Chapter 5.2

"So are we going to do anything about Lupin then?"

"Do what Draco?" She said absentmindedly, trying not to get distracted from her reading. It was quite an interesting book, The Citadel of Athens, the Pilgrim's choice. She dreamed of adventure like this, to be a conquistador, the heroine of her own story. Exploring new places, uncovering both old and new magic. However, life threatening adventures must wait. She did promise her father to accomplish a certain life insurance - oh what a better way of naming it. Unfortunately Draco tags along with her, and this acquisition of insurance doubled.

"Yes Lupin. He's dangerous Hermione."

"Draco we will do nothing because the year will be over by June. Besides, he's a DADA professor. He won't last long. I bet you he would be out before we know it." He begrudgingly conceded to that, but that does not mollify him fully. He didn't want to end up wolf chow.

"And what of Black?"

"Black has his own purpose. For the mean time, he remains in the Chamber as long as I wish."

"I think, you're putting this off too long."

"Well I think we should plan this more through. It is a such a finicky ritual, we can't afford mistakes. And definitely no second guessing. Quite frankly, I thought you'd be more opposed to this."

"Hermione you underestimate my will to become immortal. That sheer power surely tempts you."

"All the more we shouldn't take this lightly. It is critical to perfect this Draco, and we can't really practice this then. Can we now?" She said with a raised brow which eerily reminds him of his mother.

The two continued their comfortable peace, her reading and him lazily catching a snitch on his hand. He was trying to settle his head on her lap, but she pushed him away to make space for her new book - one given by his father as a Yule gift to her (now that was shockingly the turn of events, he really thought his father would not even break bread with her and he had to fight for his right to invite his own guest). Anyway, Draco relents and just lean on the wide tree trunk. He didn't want his face to end up as a book stand.

"Speaking of practice, I'm getting a good hang with the Obliviation spell. I obliviated Pansy twice today." He throws the snitch upwards and followed it with his eyes.

"Did she invite you to Hogsmeade again?"

"Worse, she wanted to write her father about courtship and betrothal." He pulled a sour face. Being with Hermione was truly an eye-opener, one that his Grandfather wholly supports. Why get married by the time he graduates, produce tiny blondes and get into politics when he could be making great magical achievements instead. He always had a flair for fairy tales and stories of adventure, and with magic it's not really that far fetched. Okay, he admits he did had a passing admiration for their previous professor, but it was cut short since Hermione serenaded the man like the town's bard. The fleeting admiration fully deflated by the time he found out what a fraud he was, and he will never admit to anyone how utterly common it made him feel to fall prey to tales of slaying dragons and wooing sirens. It was disappointing, that's what it is! So to have his Grandfather dismiss his parents' (well more his father, than his mother) disapproval with his budding relationship with Hermione and by extension her scary interest with magic unknown - which was actually just dark, questionable magic - was like a rug was pulled under him. It took him completely by surprise. Even she did NOT expect such a welcome. He bitterly accepted that after a while, Father took such an interest in her. He could've understood his Mother's soft spot for the girl, she did always dreamed of having a daughter, what with having only sisters for siblings. But his father supported her hunger for knowledge, and was just all too pleased to give her the so called key to her heart - the manor's library. "My library is at your disposal, Ms. Granger." He wanted Hermione's simpering smile to be addressed to him! Stupid Father and with his equally stupid Malfoy charm! But it didn't matter because he never felt more smug when she squealed and hauled him further into their great library. He was getting used to walking in tiny fast steps. Ugh, she's just too adorable.

"... which is utterly barbaric by the way. And not to mention you're 13! By Godric what year do you live in? And besides why rush into this when wizards live up to 200? I mean my father was almost 60 when he had me, not to mention my mother, who might be an ugly hag, was said to be the same age as he was. Or I think he said they were the same age…."

Huh.. he didn't realize she started talking. "Hermione your parents are muggles."

"Yeah. They're dentists."

"You keep saying that. Anyway Pansy had this idea that since Mother politely declined arranging a ball last Yule, that maybe she should fill in - well her mother and her. That girl just couldn't get it in her head that Mother would neever invite Lady Primula, that's Pansy's mother by the way, to any Malfoy event. Her mother even had the audacity to invite herself to tea, aannd suggested they plan a themed event. A theme? It was too bourgeois. What did she think, we come in masks and capes? Ha-ha-ha! Needless to say, mother was not amused. And to top it all off, Pansy's step-father - Mr. Edison, his uninvited arse thought third class elfin wine is a good enough recompense. It - was - foul. Tasted like poorly conjured water. But they were in polite company and could never admit that. Oh you should have seen Mother's face when she said 'Well, you certainly have an acquired taste Mr. Edison.' The way she drawled it. Too priceless I say…. W-what?" He then noticed Hermione staring at him with wide alarmed eyes.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" He tried to swipe at the non-existent grime.

"Fuck you talk too much." He was about to answer back but she just pointed her wand at him and the guy let out undignified muffled noises.

She went back to reading her book.

Before there were witches and wizards, the Greeks once called them Sectators of Asclepiades. Those who perform miracles thru The Art of Thaumaturgy. They could bring life to barren land, make crops grow unbelievably fast, and will the skies to pour rain and wash over the land. They wake men from permanent slumber, put a stop to bleeding wounds, mend broken bones, soothe the pain of crying tots and even rejuvenate aging princesses. They were healers of the land and men, the founders of medical science.

Furthermore, the book explains that the art of thaumaturgy was closely related to goeteia - or the magicke of invoking the divine powers of the gods and goddesses. This was an interesting fact because it seemed that magic was not just energy within ones core, it was more a gift than a birthright. Hermione wondered if magic was truly natural to them, or was it that the amulets and magical tablets of the ancient greeks have just evolved to wands that made casting easier. If so, was it truly possible to achieve full independent magical acts. Even Potions needed magical equipment for it to completely work, they may not need wands, but cauldrons, magical ladles, silver knives are all imbued with magical properties. So are the ingredients! That is why muggles will only end up with a useless concoction rather than a magical potion, while squibs on the other hand might have enough magical energy to perform basic brewing. How was it that accidental magic and outburst happen? How could some wizards perform ease in wandless magic? So what was the key to access this full independence?

Apparently wizards need wands to cast magic, like how Quidditch players need brooms to fly. Why do they need tools and conductors to use magic when elves can snap their fingers and centaurs can predict future through stars.

When she was at the books end, the only conclusion was this. The Sectators of Asclepiades were truly extra-ordinary men and women who were gifted with magic. However, still, they are just men, just humans, just mortals. But Among these Sectators were hidden magicals called the Magi, the true wielders of magic. Those who descended from Mt. Olympus. True gods and goddesses that are children of Hekate. In short, the first Purebloods. Those who are true masters of the arts and are responsible for the many teachings of the sectators.

That is why Purebloods stick to their own. Unfortunately after periods of time, most of those from the so called pure blooded have strayed away from their kind. Which frankly was hard to bypass what with incest and all. Unfortunately weakening the blood also meant loss of pure magic, which also lead to the loss of familial magic.

Apparently the newly coined word - familial magic, was once termed as the Chryso Nima or the golden thread. It was believed that Magi harness their power from Mt. Olympus, their true home. So once a Magi purposely dilutes their blood line they loose that connection therefore loosing full control over their magic. They loose that magical independence, thus the creation of wands, staffs, amulets, runes and now even brooms.

Unfortunately, today, only a remaining few can still will their magic and harness power from the blood lines. Not to mention the houses that have forgone the olde ways, and fully diluted their blood lines. Because of this, those of pure descent are the only ones who can fully exercise pure magic whether light or dark. A Sectator can never truly practice that art. If one chooses to do so, then they will all lead a cursed life, much like drinking a unicorn's blood. And at worse they become abominations, monsters.

These information were just even more puzzles. If all these are true, then how do pure blooded descendants produce Squibs? Well according to the pilgrim, gods and goddesses have too strayed from their kind. Even the high gods made demi-gods with mortal companions. So it could be possible that no one today is truly of pureblood descent, and as punishment the olde gods disconnect a child's connection to magic. It was the cruel fate of squibs. Keeping the child meant purposely disconnecting your bloodline to Mt. Olympus, that is why paterfamilias disown their very own flesh and blood. It was the sacrifice they make to ensure their connection, and failure to do so permanently labels you as a blood traitor. It was disappointing to find out that blood was everything. It was not mere racism, or labels. It was the price to pay to be among the immortals, to be a free wielder of magic, to be fully independent. However, the child could be forgiven and there are two ways of inducting the magic-less child once more. The first and the usual route was to take a sectator and siphon their core to transfer it to the child. Since all magical children have cores, the foreign magic can easily be absorbed and then induct the child again into the family. However this practice was ceased during the 4th century because stealing ones magic was a sinister and malevolent act. Later they found out a more humane choice: to marry the squib to a pureblood thus producing magical sprogs. However, since squibs have no grounded magic, the child will always be born with chaotic magic. Chaotic magic imitate powerful cores, therefore giving false security to the child. Any child with ungrounded magic can practice pure light or dark magic, however it will always end in failure. To avoid this, the paterfamilias of the house must induct the new child into the family. This is where her father comes in. The mistake he has yet to rectify and the mistake she will avoid. By having Draco acknowledge her, and by extension her father, she can accomplish the creation of a horcrux without the back fall of being a monster. What's even better was that by fully connecting her blood and magic to the Black line might give her the opportunity to forgo creating a horcrux, since a pureblood can become full-fledged Magi, hence true immortals. This was a better insurance than the diabolical one her father made. Perhaps this method can heal his magic, and destroy the monster he has created.

"Draco can you stop your incessant wiggling! You're grating on my last nerve!" He didn't stop, what did she expect.

"Is your owl back? I want to write a letter to your Daddy. His gift is so enlightening, and I would very much like it if he could lend me more." He didn't stop wiggling, neither did he respond.

"Draco are you deaf? I said…. Oh… I forgot." Stupid blonde git.

"Merlin Hermione. Do you know how impolite it is to silence someone. It didn't even felt like a silencing charm! Did you shove a sock up my throat?! Anyway I was saying, since Mother forbids any witch whose name starts with a P to foil her plans, I was thinking you could get started in the proper training for the Lady of the House..." WHAT? Her thoughts were reeling at the idea. "… I mean, not our house. Not yet anyway. Just.. a house, in general. Pureblood traditions and all. Trust me when I say, you do not want to serve canapes just because they sound posh. There are varieties to hors d'oeuvres. Oh, oh! I just remember this one time when Pansy paired the Caviar and Creme Fraiche Tartlets the elves brought in with French Red Wine, when clearly it went well with Sparkling Wine. It was meant to be light, but I guess she just wanted to relate, what with all of us holding our wine flutes. Then of course her step-father thought the caramelized figs were egg-plants! Eggplants Hermione! They weren't even the from the same plant species! In any affair they are just one more faux-pas away from a catastrophe. Not to mention the robes Lady Primula always wear. She thinks buying the most expensive robe from Madam Malkins will get her high up in the societal echelons. But everybody who's anybody knows, that privately tailored robes are THE best. I know this, Father told me so. Still she thinks any silk is good, when clearly wool is the rage. Or rather, Vicuna wool..."

"Dracooo." She said so sweetly it gave him a pause.

"Yes Hermione?" He smiled charmingly.

"Obliviate."

Holy cricket! This boy knows so much about hors d'oeuvres.

"Fuuuck. DId I fall asleep? My back hurts… Were we talking about something Hermione?"

"Yeah… hors d'oeuvres and wools." She murmured in distaste.

"What? Why do horses need doors? Father's Abraxans doesn't need one. Anyway on the matter of wolves, you're right. We should just see how this plays out, the position is cursed any way, he'd be out before next year. Fuck I wish we'll have a better professor next time. I could request Father to enroll us to a private mentorship or some similar program."

"Drakeeey!" A screech was heard from a distance.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Pansy Parkinson, 3rd year Slytherin."

"Who?" And Draco Malfoy sounded like an owl right there.